are such that few Presidents live out their full term of office, usually dying of a broken spirit after a year or two. The Expeditor had once been President and served the full five years of his term. Subsequently he changed his name and underwent plastic surgery, to blot out,
as far as possible, the memory of his disgrace.
“Yes of course . . . we’ll pay you,” Marvie was saying to the Expeditor.
“But take it easy. It may be a little while yet. . . .”
“Take it easy! A little w hile!. . . Listen.”
“Yes I know it all. The finance company is repossessing your wife’s artificial kidney. . . . They are evicting your grandmother from her iron lung.”
“That’s in rather bad taste, old boy.. . . Frankly I wish I had never involved myself in this uh matter. That bloody grease has too much carbolic in it. I was down
to customs one day last week. Stuck a broom handle into a drum of it, and the grease ate the end off straight away. Besides, the stink is enough to knock a man on
his bloody ass. You should take a walk down by the port.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Marvie screeched. It is a mark of caste in the Zone never to touch or even go near what you are selling. To do so gives rise to suspicion of retailing, that is of being a common peddler. A good part of the merchandise in the Zone is sold through
street peddlers.
“Why do you tell me all this? It’s too sordid! Let the retailers worry about it.”
“Oh it’s all very well for you chaps, you can scud out
from under. But I have a reputation to maintain. . . . There’ll be a spot of bother about this.”